


Five Times Maybe

by MostlyAnon



Category: RWBY
Genre: 5+1 Things, Addiction, Clover calls Qrow on his bs, Eventual AU, Fighting, Flirting, Harbinger - Freeform, Hot Tub, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Kingfisher - Freeform, M/M, Slow Burn, Sparring, Weapons, fair game, way too much research on weapons
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:08:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22456981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MostlyAnon/pseuds/MostlyAnon
Summary: Five times something almost happened and one time it did.
Relationships: Qrow Branwen & Clover Ebi, Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi
Comments: 20
Kudos: 222





	1. Maybe Just One

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thank you to the lovely  Shannedo, who was super polite when I babbled on about this fic.

Atlas was quiet at night, for the most part. People went to bed early, for city folk. The streets were almost empty after the sun went down. From what Qrow understood, it had taken all of Yang´s considerable skills to locate a club worthy of her time and attention. What made this club different from any other, or better, was beyond Qrow. Muted, the heavy bass of the music bled into the silent street, making Qrow´s head ache. The world got that way sometimes, especially when he was sober. Too loud. Too much. It made him wish for forests and clear skies.

Following the girls was habit as much as it was concern. It kept him busy and he could occasionally lend a hand in the sisyphean battle that was keeping them out of trouble. It was a cold night, but when wasn’t it cold in Atlas? Qrow hunched his shoulders against the chill and shoved his hands deeper in his pockets, trying not to think about the building he was leaning against.

Despite himself, he could practically feel the bar behind him. It would take four steps to get to the door, then, from the glance he’d had earlier, half a dozen more steps to the quiet bar. The bartender didn’t know him, no one in the place would recognize him. He could order one drink and maybe if he just savored it, really took his time, one would be enough. Just to take the edge off. It wouldn’t be enough to get him drunk, not from just one drink. 

He shut his eyes and pressed the back of his head against the brick. No one would have to find out. He could roost in a tree for the night— Yang had no idea he was following her, and Ruby was happily watching a movie. It would be so easy. No consequences, no—

“Qrow?” 

Clover’s voice broke Qrow’s reverie. Qrow opened one eye to verify that the other man was, in fact, standing in the street, eyes lit with… delight? When was the last time anyone had looked happy to see him? Qrow wondered, and then felt guilty for the thought. That was unfair. Ruby was always happy to see him.

“Hey,” Qrow said, opening his eyes. He glanced around, assessing, but there was no immediate threat. “Aren’t you a little high ranking for night patrol?” He looked at the club. “Or are you here to—“ he tried to remember how Yang had phrased it. “Get your dance on?”

Clover’s lips twitched at that, his eyebrow quirking slightly. “Yang?” he guessed. When Qrow nodded acknowledgement, Clover shrugged. “I was just heading back. What are you doing out here?”

Qrow looked at the club and thought about telling the truth— that the habit built over years of watching the girls and trying to find the right distance between protecting them and endangering them was a hard thing to break, even if he thought he should. He could invite the other man to join him for his one drink. He could invite him for more than just one.

“Enjoying the weather,” Qrow said, instead. On cue, it began to sleet, making Clover laugh and duck under the bar’s awning with Qrow. They watched as it began to sleet in earnest.

“You don’t have to,” Qrow said after a while. “—Stay.”

“I know,” Clover said. He made no move to go, shifting his weight slightly so their arms pressed against each other, but his attention was on the sleet and the street before them. Despite being sleeveless, or maybe because of it, his arm was warm against Qrow’s. “Neither do you.” 

Qrow glanced at him in question.

“It’s standard procedure to keep track of high ranking assets,” Clover explained with a shrug. “Even if the girls weren’t currently surrounded by off duty Atlas guards, I’m sure they can handle themselves. You deserve a night off as much as anyone.”

Qrow looked down at their feet. Clover’s boots were polished to a high gloss, a stark contrast to his own, beat to hell, boots. He exhaled a laugh at himself, a soft sound of self-depreciation. Of course the girls could handle themselves. They didn’t need him watching out for them, like some grubby guardian angel.

“You’ve got a better idea?” he asked, shrugging his own shoulders, just to feel the warm slide of Clover’s muscles against him.

“I can think of a few ways we could pass the time that would be…” Clover barely paused. “Warmer, at least.” He seemed absorbed in evaluating the downpour, but his fingers brushed Qrow’s.

Qrow cocked his head at Clover, studying him as he would any shiny thing that caught his eye. Clover did shine, too, the polish of his brass alluring in so many ways. Clover kept his gaze on the club in front of them, a faint smile on his lips, and gave nothing away, otherwise. It was something Qrow liked— the way he used his affable friendliness as a wall, giving nothing away except what he chose to share. It made him one hell of a card player.

“Yeah, okay,” Qrow said, finally. “Lead on, lucky charm.”


	2. Maybe You Win

Qrow had to give Atlas its due; its gym was more luxurious than some hotels he’d been in. The facilities would typically have been of little interest to Qrow, but Ruby had wanted to train and he hadn’t felt up to fighting her about it. 

It had taken her years to convince him to train her and even then, he’d only really given in because she almost cut off her own head with Crescent Rose. He had strict rules he kept to— she used Crescent Rose, but it was rare for him to use Harbinger, unless it was to show her something. She was one hell of a fighter, but Qrow had spent his life learning, through brutal experience, that he should be willing to kill if he was willing to fight at all. 

It wasn’t wasted time, though. Ruby was a good student, focused and quick to pick up lessons, and he got good practice with unarmed combat. He laughed when she finally mastered the move he’d been showing her and celebrated by darting around the gym at full speed.

“I didn’t know you _could_ laugh,” Clover remarked, wandering over to them. He smiled at Ruby as she skidded to a stop, all puffed up pride and beaming victory. “That was nicely done.”

“Thanks,” Ruby said, beaming. “You should have seen me before Uncle Qrow. I was the worst.”

“You weren’t that bad,” Qrow protested, generously.

“Yes, I was,” Ruby said.

He shrugged. “Okay, you were.”

She laughed and leaned on Crescent Rose. “What are you doing here?” she asked Clover.

“I was going to train,” he said. “But the rest of my team seems to be running late. Can I interest either of you in a bout?”

Ruby’s eyes lit up. “You should spar with Uncle Qrow. He’s really good. Almost better than me.”

Qrow rolled his eyes at the faint praise. “Thanks, kiddo, but I’d rather sit this one out.”

“Why?” Ruby asked. Clover raised an eyebrow and they both looked at Qrow, who scowled back at them.

“It’s not generally a good idea,” Qrow said.

“James mentioned you were a bird,” Clover said, idly swinging Kingfisher. “I didn’t realize it was a chicken.”

Ruby burst into laughter and began to make clucking sounds. Qrow gaped at Clover in disbelief. “Did you really just call me a chicken?”

Clover shrugged, amused. “If the feathers fit…”

“Really?” Qrow asked, incredulous. “What’s next? You’ll triple dog dare me?”

Clover made a show of considering it, but before he could respond, Qrow sighed. “Fine. You asked for it.”

Qrow paced away, shaking his head and muttering about the folly of youth. When he turned to face Clover, he exhaled a weary breath and spread his hands. “Well?” he asked.

Clover waited a beat longer, but when Qrow made no further move, he shrugged and launched an attack.

Kingfisher wasn’t any specific type of weapon— he could wield it like a pole, or use it like a rope dart, anchored by the heavy hook. The engineering that had gone into its design was breathtaking, but Clover’s ability to use it effectively had been born from endless practice, largely in the field. It made for a deadly staff, but at a distance, Clover used it like a ‘soft’ weapon. He swung the hook out to test Qrow’s guard.

Clover was fast. He was probably faster than anyone on his team except for Harriet. People didn’t expect it, because of his size, but he prided himself on it and worked hard to hone his reflexes. He had a reasonable idea of what to expect from Qrow; there had been fairly detailed dossiers on his entire group, as well as anecdotal information from James. Qrow had been a formidable foe when he was part of a team, but years of playing lone wolf had honed him sharp, given him an edge that was uncommon even among other huntsmen. 

Clover was fast and he knew what to expect, but he never saw Qrow move. One minute the man had been standing there, looking exasperated, and the next, Harbinger was coming around in an upstroke, snagging Kingfisher’s line. Almost casually, Qrow reached out and grabbed the line. He jerked hard, putting his weight behind the pull. 

Qrow’s smile was a sharp, small thing that betrayed how used he was to people underestimating him.

Clover recovered his balance and laughed softly under his breath. Like that, was it? Kingfisher’s line fully retracted, he lashed out again— the hook spun, then bit, once, twice, a flurry of shots meant to distract and worry away Qrow’s guard, looking for any opportunity to twine around the other man and snarl him up. Qrow spun his scythe like a whirlwind, turning the shots aside, deflecting and detangling himself before the weapon had a chance to catch him. Clover’s lips quirked; Qrow was so involved with deflecting the onslaught that he wasn’t prepared when Clover drove the hook straight into his gut, knocking him back. 

It was barely a touch, would barely have registered if it were a blooded fight, but it was enough to send Qrow back a step. Clover followed it up by snagging the man’s ankle and pulling him further off balance. Qrow stumbled, found his footing, and brought Harbinger around with vicious velocity, forcing Clover to disengage and fall back, or lose his head.

Qrow pressed the attack, following Clover with a flurry of strikes, fully committed now; the giant scythe hummed through the air. There was poetry in the motions, but Clover was too busy to appreciate it— much. He was grinning as he fended the strikes off. For as fast as Qrow was, there was power behind the strikes. Kingfisher sang every time he blocked a hit, deflecting the deadly rush.

A weapon like Harbinger, in the hands of someone who truly understood how to wield it, became a machine of war, an unrelenting, unforgiving storm. Clover kept his guard, but barely; every attack was followed up immediately, every weakness was pressed, every point tested. He tried to get Qrow to fall into a rhythm and failed; he deflected more blows than he blocked and fell back. When they broke, both men were grinning.

“You’re pretty good,” Clover observed, rolling out his shoulder and loosening Kingfisher’s cord. He held the attack as they circled, waiting, both looking for an opening. Qrow matched every step Clover took with wary intent, swinging Harbinger in and out of guard without obvious concern. 

“You’re not too bad yourself, kiddo,” Qrow said, shrugging. There was a light in his eyes that betrayed the jab as just that, a teasing bit of bait.

Clover arched an eyebrow, his smile going sharp around the edges. Kiddo. Cute. He liked that about Qrow, liked his sharp edges and the way he tested the people he around him.

Kingfisher’s hook bit again, but this time Clover was after Harbinger. He caught the scythe around the joint and pulled, hard. Qrow was faster, but Clover had the advantage when it came to strength. The massive weapon flew across the gym and landed against the far wall with a crash.

Qrow stared after the scythe, then looked back at Clover and shrugged. He rippled his fingers and made a fist, closing the distance. When Clover brought Kingfisher around, Qrow almost absently batted it away with a deceptively easy looking swipe, and he was inside Clover’s guard before he had a chance to recover.

James had trained Clover, and all of the Ace Ops, on the same principle. A capable fighter remained a threat no matter what weapon they used, or if they had one at all. Qrow apparently subscribed to the same philosophy. He landed the first punch, thoroughly ringing Clover’s bell.

Clover fell back and shook his head, watching Qrow warily, arms up to guard against the next strike. Qrow didn’t take the obvious openings, but when Clover dropped one fist, leaving a slight hole in his guard, Qrow finally took the bait. Qrow struck, only to have the punch turned aside and his arm caught in a deft movement that had saved Clover’s life a few times before. Clover jerked him off balance and twisted, throwing him over one hip only to have Qrow reverse the throw and drag him down after.

Later, Clover would insist that the grappling that followed was strictly technical and not, in any way, an all out free for all where he and Qrow struggled to gain the upper hand using any means necessary, including resorting to slapping and poking each other. Clover was briefly on top until Qrow managed a sharp jab to his ribs, reversing their position. He grinned triumphantly down at Clover, who raised his hands, laughing. 

“Not bad, except for the last part,” Clover said. “I could have had you.”

Qrow raised his eyebrows and made a show of looking around. “Not from where I’m sitting,” he said, smug.

Clover’s smile was a warm thing. He rested his hands on Qrow’s hips. “I think you’re right where I want you,” he said, voice mild.

Qrow’s eyes widened a fraction, but before he could respond, Ruby interrupted. “Uncle Qrow!” she shouted across the gym. “I have to go! But we all think you won! Except Weiss.”

Clover shifted a bit, twisting to look at the group of onlookers. The girls were laughing at them, except for Weiss, who appeared to be adamantly defending her opinion to an uninterested Yang. Harriet stood with them, both eyebrows arched in a silent message to Clover. He could practically hear her: _what do you think you’re doing?_

Qrow waved Ruby off, then shook his head and stood up. Clover flexed his fingers, wanting to hold him where he’d been, but let go. He’d lobbed the ball into Qrow’s court-- he could wait to see if Qrow sent it back.

Qrow extended a hand to help him up. Close, the difference in their height was marked-- Qrow tilted his chin up to look at Clover, before he stepped back and looked away, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“Yeah, well, there’s always next time,” he offered.

Clover waited until he looked at him again, then smiled. “I look forward to it,” he said.


	3. Maybe a Kiss

It hadn’t been the worst assignment of Qrow’s life.

There had been the usual bumps, but working with Clover had proven to be seductively easy. There was an easy, unspoken give and take. The rest of the Ace Ops had wrapped up their objectives earlier in the day and were waiting back at the landing zone, but even Clover’s good luck had failed to help Qrow and him find their target. They had spent the better part of the day hunting for the last cache of Dust in a compound of warehouses with no success. The warehouse they were currently searching was dark and smelled like old Dust. Clover’s flashlight cast long shadows as they searched, a few steps behind Qrow. Awareness shivered down Qrow’s spine— not wariness, but a more primal heat. When was the last time he trusted anyone at his back?

“Do you see anything?” Clover asked, sweeping the light as they moved down the cramped aisle. 

“No,” Qrow said, ducking to look at the lower shelves. “You’re sure there’s another stash? We already recovered quite a bit.”

Clover stood on his toes to peer at the topmost shelves, dropping back down and shrugging at Qrow. “Intel said there was another cache here, somewhere.”

Qrow straightened, dusting off his hands. The entire warehouse had been abandoned for years; the place was covered in dust and cobwebs. He sneezed, sending up a cloud. Clover laughed softly and tried to brush cobwebs off his hair. Qrow flinched before he could stop himself.

Clover stilled immediately, but didn’t drop his hand. “You have cobwebs in your hair,” he said, waiting to see how Qrow reacted. Qrow didn’t relax, but he didn’t step away, either.

Holding his gaze, Clover reached out again, slowly. He gave Qrow the time to move away, and when he didn’t, stroked a hand through his soft hair, pulling away the cobwebs. He flicked them away and stroked Qrow’s brow, lightly.

“You get it?” Qrow asked, voice rough. He inhaled, trying to steady himself, breathing in the stale air and the compelling, fresh scent of Clover’s soap.

“You’re full of dust,” Clover murmured, his own voice low, attention fixated on the man before him. He stepped closer. His palm stroked down to cup Qrow’s cheek, not even attempting to keep up the pretense of cleaning him off. His hands were firm, calloused from hard work and sure against Qrow’s skin.

“I’ve been told that before,” Qrow said, inanely, wondering what the hell they were talking about. It wouldn’t take much, he would barely need to shift his weight, to kiss Clover. 

From the way Clover’s gaze dropped to Qrow’s lips, he was thinking similar thoughts. “We should…” Qrow started, fumbling when Clover licked his lips.

“Yeah,” Clover agreed, tilting his head down slightly, just enough that their lips almost touched, just enough to feel his breath. He swallowed, his hand finding Qrow’s hip. There was light pressure, guiding him closer. 

Qrow didn’t know who closed the distance; maybe they both had. The kiss sparked, a wildfire blaze from the first touch. It was a thing born of need, Clover’s lips wicked; Qrow wasn’t surprised to discover that the Ace Ops’ golden boy kissed like a filthy sinner. Clover groaned and his hands went hard and possessive on Qrow’s hips, the flashlight dropping to the floor with a clatter as he crowded him back up against the shelves. Qrow tilted his head up and tangled his fingers in Clover’s hair, meeting demand with demand, hungry for the other man’s touch. The kiss became a vicious thing, heady and out of control, Clover’s tongue licking into Qrow, chasing the low, needy sound he made. 

The thundering of heartbeats became the dull rhythm of chopper blades, fighting for their attention. It took Qrow a long minute to realize what he was hearing. With that realization came reality crashing back— they were _in the field_.

He shoved Clover back with a snarl of disgust, immediately casing their surroundings. He ignored the other man’s confusion and spotted the glint of a Dust case on the nearby shelf. 

Without looking at Clover, he stalked over to the case and checked it. Vials were intact and full. Good. _What the hell had he been thinking?_

“Target acquired,” he rasped over his com. “We’re on our way back.”

He didn’t look at Clover the entire way back.


	4. Maybe Not

Clover finished talking to Elm, who was piloting the chopper, and braced himself with an arm as he settled back into the jump seat beside Qrow. Silence wasn’t something easily found in a helicopter, but somehow, it managed to envelop them.

Clover opened his mouth to say something— maybe apologize? But Qrow cut him off with a flat, unimpressed look.

“Save it,” Qrow bit out. “That was a mistake.”

Well.

Clover stared at Qrow’s profile, then exhaled a long breath and looked away.


	5. Maybe Ever After

The facilities were dark and silent by the time Clover let himself in; most people had long since gone to bed and the entire compound was echoingly empty. It had been a long day, exhausting, and Clover had thrown himself into the work, seeking the distraction. The minutiae of the job was more than enough to keep him busy on a normal day; with the political upheaval and tension, he hadn’t had a chance to breathe, much less worry over whatever had occurred between him and Qrow. But here, in the darkened gym, alone, he gave himself over to it.

He sank deeper into the hot tub and shut his eyes wearily, trying to sort out if Qrow had been deliberately avoiding him or just his usual, scarce self. The heat from the water seeped into his muscles, loosening the knots of tension he carried. He wasn’t sure what alerted him-- a soft sound, the faint scuff of a boot or the near silent whisper of fabric. When he opened his eyes, Qrow was standing there.

The other man wasn’t an open book, by any means, but Clover found he could usually read Qrow’s intent. Qrow gave away nothing, now, hands shoved into his pockets and expression blank, balanced lightly on the edge of the pool.

Clover was conscious of his own nudity, especially in light of Qrow’s layers, but he didn’t shrink from Qrow’s gaze. Instead, he stretched his arms out along the edge of the hot tub and tilted his head slightly, keeping his own expression neutral. 

He waited.

Qrow looked away first, shifting his weight to betray his own unease. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he said, as if they were simply continuing a conversation instead of starting anew.

Clover raised an eyebrow slightly, but kept his peace, waiting.

Qrow exhaled and leveled a look at him. “I’m not a kid. That was… That was a mistake.”

Clover shrugged slightly, water rippling. “Explain it to me.”

Qrow shifted his weight as if he was thinking about leaving. After a minute, he bent, pulling off his boots and rolling up his pant legs. He sat on the edge of the hot tub and dangled his feet in the water, bracing himself on his hands, shoulders hunched, avoiding Clover’s gaze. 

“We were in the field,” he said. “I’m not a kid-- letting myself be distracted like that… It’s the kind of thing that could have gotten us both killed.”

Clover considered it. He thought about how much Qrow must have survived, to come to that conclusion. It had to be hell, to live a life so fully alone, to be so committed to that loneliness. It made Clover’s heart ache for the other man. Qrow was staring intently at the water, watching the ripples as he swung his feet.

“Bullshit,” Clover said.

Qrow’s head snapped up, indignation flaring.

Clover rolled his eyes. “That warehouse was secure-- we scan the entire compound for Grim regularly, and there had been no reported threats in that area since it was cleared. The only reason we were sent was because of the value of the target. There was never any danger.”

“If it happened again, in the field--” Qrow protested, fumbling to a stop as Clover began to smile.

His smile was a slow, wicked thing. “If?” he asked, moving across the pool towards Qrow with deliberate intent. 

“Ah--” Qrow glanced away, color touching his cheeks. He ran a hand through his hair again. 

Clover stopped in front of Qrow, catching the other man’s legs and sliding his hands up along the curve of his calves. Slowly, he pushed himself out of the water; standing, he was on eye level with the other man, not that Qrow was looking at him. He ran his hands along the outside of Qrow’s thighs and stepped in between them.

“I think you got scared, pretty bird,” Clover husked, his voice low and heated as he leaned forward, touching his lips to Qrow’s ear. His breath feathered over Qrow’s skin, hot, and made him shiver in response. “I think it was so good, you didn’t care where we were, and that scared you.”

Qrow exhaled a laugh. “No shit,” he said. Despite himself, he canted his head slightly to bare his neck to Clover’s lips, felt stubble rasp against stubble as his jaw grazed Clover’s. “It was stupid.”

“It was _good_ ,” Clover corrected, tasting his pulse. “We’re not in the field now.”

Qrow’s long fingers threaded through the hair at the base of Clover’s neck, his head falling back. Clover bit at the exposed curve of his jaw, tasted the rough stubble there. “It’s not exactly private,” he rasped. 

Clover caught Qrow under the thigh and pushed him back, coming out of the water and pressing the other man down onto the tiles. Need flared white hot between them as he settled between Qrow’s legs with a groan. Qrow rocked his hips up and pulled him closer, letting out a breathless curse.

“Private enough,” Clover murmured, running a hand up under Qrow’s shirt, hungry for the feel of him. “I could fuck you into the floor right here.”

Qrow arched up into him, meeting his slow, lazy thrusts. He bit down on Clover’s ear. “Been a while since I’ve done this,” Qrow said, his voice rough with need. “But I think we need lube for that.” 

Clover stilled, shutting his eyes and resting his forehead on Qrow’s. He tried to remember where they were, tried to force logic into the swirling firestorm of desire, and groaned. 

Qrow cocked his head slightly. “Lucky charm?” he asked.

“Give me a second,” Clover said, struggling with himself. He finally inhaled and opened his eyes, pushing away from Qrow. “New plan,” he said. “My room is around the corner.” 

Qrow’s gaze licked down Clover’s body. “Good plan,” he agreed. “Are you making the run like that?”

Clover laughed raggedly, shaking his head. “Don’t tempt me,” he warned, grabbing the sweats he’d brought with him. 

Running was beyond either of them, but they managed— stopping briefly so Qrow could push Clover against the wall and kiss him hungrily. Clover kept grip on his self control, but it was a close thing. They were fumbling with the door to his dorm, Clover crowded up behind Qrow, lips on the back of his neck, when he heard Elm call from down the hall: “ Captain?”

Qrow didn’t slow, jerking Clover into the room behind him. “you’re busy, lucky charm,” he growled.

“I’m busy,” Clover agreed, over his shoulder, as he kicked the door closed behind him.


End file.
